


Oenomel

by Terminallydepraved



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, Fingerfucking, Kidnapping, M/M, Massage, dub con, ganymede!chrollo, pretty substantially dub con, zeus!silva, zeus/ganymede au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 09:22:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6900259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terminallydepraved/pseuds/Terminallydepraved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I brought you to be my cup bearer,” the god said, making it sound like the greatest of honors even as his hands fell to Chrollo’s hips, his fingers dipping beneath the simple tunic to find skin. It was obvious he held no regret or guilt or any thought of what Chrollo had been taken from. </p><p>Chrollo glared and took him by the wrists, pointedly removing his hands from his body. “From the looks of things you’d like me to bear far more than just your cup,” he snapped, backing away blindly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oenomel

**Author's Note:**

> to my beloved Yougei <3

Chrollo carefully inched his way down the rocky slope, his eyes fixed to the bleating lamb trapped at the bottom of the hill. He couldn’t help but smile wryly, the small creature bounding towards him as he descended, desperate for help from a familiar face.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, navigating the shale as skillfully as any mountain goat. “I’m coming, so be patient.”

The lamb cried out louder, too frightened to wait. Chrollo sighed and slid down the last ten feet a bit riskily, stopping the baby from trying to scale the unsteady rock in an attempt to meet him halfway. He held out his arms and the lamb came running, hopping and butting at his boots with its little head as it noisily whined, telling him no doubt of how scared it was, how long it waited for him to come.

With a single hand he lifted the lamb around the middle, bringing it into his arms for the trip back up the slope. It wouldn’t be safe to take it the quick way he had come, not without the use of both hands to climb the slippery rock. The slope melded back in with the grassy loam, and so they ascended the hill the long way instead.

He laughed as the tiny thing kept up a constant stream of conversation, bleating and yipping as it nipped his fingers, sucking as it looked for milk. Slowly the flock came into view and he upped the pace, only imagining how hungry it must be after being separated for so long. The lamb bawled and Chrollo smiled at it, kissing its head as he walked it back into the herd.

“I know, I know,” he answered every cry. “Your mother is right here, little one.”

The ewe in question bounded up to them, baaing loudly until he sat the baby back down in front of her. He pet her head, scratching behind her long ears as she immediately coaxed the lamb beneath her to nurse. Reunited at last, he thought, picking up his crook.

The sun warmed them all gently and he let out a sigh. Crisis averted.

In the distance he could just make out the sea crashing against the rocks. A warm, sea-scented breeze ruffled his hair and Chrollo stretched his arms and back, breathing it in. It was so beautiful this time of year. The weather made the herd energetic, the grass sweet. A smile graced his lips as he watched them graze, utterly content.

As they fed, he folded himself into a comfortable sprawl and looked up at the clouds, watching the cumulus masses dance by in the wind. Soon the flock would be like that, fluffy and brilliant with wool for the market. He rolled onto his side to pluck a blade of the grass, chewing it between his teeth. Then would come winter and the boredom.

Though his mouth tasted sweet, Chrollo still frowned. Winter was the worst. Too cold to go out and explore, so all there was to do was sit around, holed up in the house with no one and nothing to bother. He rolled onto his other shoulder, growing restless at the thought alone.

Purple flooded his sight as he turned right into a flower patch, the delicate violets bright against the deep green of the grass. Their sweet scent rivaled that of the field, drawing him in until he gave in to the urge to pick one, bringing the soft petals to his nose to smell properly. Fresh and floral, as pure as the spring. He traced the small flower along his cheek, the silken petals tickling him until he smiled.

Bleating and baaing cut through the calm and Chrollo felt his smile wilt, his brow furrowing as he lifted himself up onto his elbows. The flock shifted uneasily and he rolled to his feet, picking up his crook. Was there a wolf nearby? The hills obstructed most of the surroundings and he quickly jogged back to his sheep, the flower falling to the grass forgotten.

He barely made it three steps before a shadow blocked out the light. There was no time to look up.

Chrollo cried out as sharp, merciless talons grabbed him around the middle, tearing him off balance like prey snatched by a falcon.

The sheep screamed in fear and Chrollo’s mind went white as he instinctively fought the hold. He beat at the sleek feathers and iron claws with his fists. The enormous eagle, tawny and massive, paid it little mind. In an instant it lifted him from the earth with a few mighty flaps of its wings.

Baleful, frightened eyes watched as he was carried off and vertigo forced him to close his own, the ground falling away as if being pulled out from under him.

Fear coated his tongue like an acrid poison and Chrollo clung tightly to the warm feathers, petrified of the open air beneath him. Cold wind tore through his thin shift and there was nothing he could do but wait and pray that the creature holding him deigned to set him down alive and not let him fall into the roiling sea below.

Salt air pricked his nose and he hid his face in the brilliant feathers. This had to be a nightmare, a never ending terror.

Minutes or maybe hours passed before Chrollo felt solid ground meet his body. He finally opened his eyes, praying it to end.

Instead of his bedroom he saw only the eagle, the pain from the claws refusing to let him be dreaming. His breath turned panicked and his eyes went wide with fear at way lay before him.

Never in all his days had he ever imagined something as magnificently terrifying as the beast in front of him. It was immense, as tall as two men, its wingspan at least double that. The vicious beak looked as sharp as any blade, its talons like daggers on its feet.

For the life of him he couldn’t imagine how they hadn’t torn through him.

It pinned him in place with a look as if returning the scrutiny he was paying it. Chrollo shook as the bird moved closer, some undefinable change muddling the creature as it moved like a heat haze on the horizon. He scrambled away, crawling and tripping as the feathers melted away into limbs, the pointed beak forming a sharp, angular face. An intimidatingly large body shook off the wings like one would shrug off a cloak, emerging like a titan to loom over him.

There was silence, pointed and barbed and Chrollo startled, scrambling against the smooth stone, when the man broke it with a laugh.

“Oh, don’t run, my pet,” the monster crooned, kneeling down to seize Chrollo by the ankle and pull him back. “You should be honored, not afraid.”

The horror and fear morphed into anger and Chrollo kicked at the grip viciously, balking at the sheer size of the man before him. He stood so tall, his shoulders as broad as a mountain.

“Let me go, you beast!” he snapped, doing all he could to free himself from the iron hand dragging him in.

“Beast? My child, I am a god,” the man replied, his eyes dancing inhumanly. Silver hair, brilliant like the stormy grey of clouds shone in the sunlight, seeming to illustrate his declaration. “And I chose you. So come here and be sweeter.”

Chrollo snarled like a caged animal and finally succeeded in freeing himself, scrambling to his feet to put distance between them.

Nothing looked familiar, nothing seemed safe.

“Where am I?” he demanded, taking in the palatial courtyard. Unfamiliar trees and fauna rose up around them, hiding them from everything but the ever watching sun above. He could tell he was far from the flock, the air here sweet and heavy in a way so unlike the fields he knew.

The god, entertained like a child watching a bird dash itself upon the cage bars, smiled down at him and matched his every step. “You’re on Olympus, home of the gods,” he said, his cold blue eyes trailing hotly along Chrollo’s body. “You’re mine now.”

Panic made the air thin and Chrollo feared for a moment as his vision spotted black. If this were the home of the gods, then the one before him must be the High God, Silva. “This can’t be, this can’t be,” he rushed, glancing around as the proof was made clear. His waist ached from the grip of the eagle’s claws, the bright marble around him whiter than snow.

Anger boiled up as he went from scared to furious. “Why would you take me?” he snarled, rounding now on the god instead of fleeing. “Why would you take me from my flock? What if they’re attacked without me?”

“I brought you to be my cup bearer,” the god said, making it sound like the greatest of honors even as his hands fell to Chrollo’s hips, his fingers dipping beneath the simple tunic to find skin. It was obvious he held no regret or guilt or any thought of what Chrollo had been taken from.

Chrollo glared and took him by the wrists, pointedly removing the hands from his body. “From the looks of things you’d like me to bear far more than just your cup,” he snapped, backing away blindly.

Silva didn’t grow angry, but his brows drew together in contemplation.

“So what if I do?”

Chrollo’s eyes went wide as he strode forward, following him even as he tried to put distance between them.

“That isn’t going to happen,” he shot, his voice staying adamant as his back hit a pillar, effectively trapping him. There were far too many inches separating them to make Chrollo feel as if he were on even ground with the god, but he refused to look cowed. “Now take me back. I don’t have time for this.”

“You’re rather impious for a mortal. Do you know to whom you’re speaking?”

Chrollo smiled his sharpest smile and painted his voice sweet. “You act like it matters. My sheep are better behaved, so I think I’d prefer their company,” he said venomously, delighting in the anger now beginning to break across Silva’s handsome face like rain clouds rolling across a clear sky.

He didn’t let his smile falter as his arms were seized in iron-like hands, the god’s discontent a palpable force. “There isn’t a drop of piety in you, is there?” Silva asked, his eyes as cold as ice. Power thrummed in the air, like the static charge before a lightning strike.

The first inklings of fear began to collect in his stomach, heavy and frozen beneath Silva’s stare. With a nervous air, Chrollo licked his lips and shook his head. “No, not even a drop.”

“You make up for it with that viper’s tongue.” A warm hand skimmed his cheek, stroking him the way a lover would. “How lovely you would be if you’d sweeten yourself for me.”

Chrollo pushed the hand away. “Not likely to happen, so I’d suggest you distance yourself from the notion before you become disappointed.”

Fingers dragged through his hair, caressing him like a pet.

“What a mouth on you. Tell me your name, mortal.”

 “Does a god not even know the names of those he steals away?” Chrollo against smacked his hand away, but the god was too close to flee. His wrist was seized and brought to Silva’s lips and he couldn’t hide his embarrassed flush.

Fingers dipped beneath his tunic, completely invasive and entitled. “I want to hear it from your own beautiful lips,” the god said, pressing him to the pillar with the length of his muscled body.

The panic returned and Chrollo turned away from the mouth as it fixed itself to his neck, grimacing. He pushed at the broad chest but it was like trying to move the earth. The longer he stood, tight-lipped and frozen, the more the god touched, his hands reaching down to take him by the thighs, hoisting him up to wrap him around the thick waist.

“Stop!” Chrollo yelped, smacking at the god’s shoulders as the god tugged at his clothing. “Stop, stop and I’ll tell you!”

Silva hummed against his damp skin, licking a hot line up his neck to whisper in his ear. “But you taste so good,” he said lowly, mouthing at the sensitive shell.

The hand dipped beneath his tunic and Chrollo clenched shut his eyes. “Please,” he gasped, shoving with all his might at the immovable force holding him in place. “Please, I want to tell you. Please stop and I’ll tell you.”

The god seemed to ponder, leaving his neck but continuing his cursory exploration with his hand against Chrollo’s front. “You almost sound sweet now,” he mused, cocking his head with a mirthful look in his eye. “Tell me your name.”

His head fell to the god’s shoulder and his shoulders shook. He was so breathless.

“I’m Chrollo, my name is Chrollo.”

A moment passed and for a horrible second, Chrollo feared the god wouldn’t stop. The hand trailed down his inner thigh, tracing over the burning lines cut into him by the eagle’s grip.

“Welcome to your new home, Chrollo,” Silva whispered, only then deigning to set him down on his feet. “Let’s get you settled in.”

Chrollo shook against the pillar, a bundle of half-realized pleasure and burning resentment.

Like this, high above anything he could consider home, he had the sinking feeling that he wasn’t likely to ever see his flock again.

oOo

The god pursued him the way a child would peruse a disinterested cat, chasing after him no matter how far he ran or how cold he tried to be. Chrollo had never been much for religion, but he knew that the behavior he was seeing was anything but divine. 

A large hand fell to his shoulder and stroked his bare skin. Chrollo let out a low sigh. And to think he had almost had a full hour to himself. 

Silva’s face pressed to his neck to rain down kisses to his cheek and throat. “It would please me if you’d look at me,” he said, running his hand down Chrollo’s hip as he read.

“Too bad I don’t wish to please you at all,” he gave back, never once breaking from the book.

Fingers ran through his hair, petting him as if that would sweeten his temperament. “But I wish it in any case,” Silva said, as if that would change Chrollo’s mind.

“I wish I wasn’t here. Sometimes we have to deal with disappointment.”

“You act as if I’m torturing you. Have I not made you comfortable?”

Chrollo lifted a brow and finally gave the god his attention, if only to glare.

All around him dripped the luxuries and trappings of the kind of wealth Chrollo had only ever heard about in stories. Silks and downy pillows and bedding of the softest kind blanketed the bed, the floor, the chaise he rested on now. Books had littered the room the moment he let it slip that he liked to read, fancy delicacies the table when his traitorous stomach had revealed him to be hungry. He himself was clothed in garments lighter than air, sheer and lovely against his skin.

Given it all, Chrollo still would have preferred the company of his sheep.

“You’ve made me another pretty toy in your room, Silva,” he let out, shoving the god in hopes of reclaiming his personal space. “You did this for yourself, not for my sake.”

Silva took him by the hand and brought it to his lips, kissing every finger while his eyes laughed. “Should I not receive pleasure from drowning you in opulence? You are so beautiful.” He paused with his mouth at Chrollo’s pulse point, savoring the soft, delicate skin of his inner wrist.

The gesture was so intimate that Chrollo had to look away, his cheeks flushed.

“Did you come here for something?” he asked, pulling his hand free only once Silva deigned to let it be taken from him. “Besides the affection I won’t give, that is.”

Silva huffed and contented himself with drawing his fingers along Chrollo’s back, his heat burning through the sheer silk as if there were nothing there. “I want you at dinner,” he said, dancing his fingers lower as he spoke. “There are clothes for you with the attendant.”

“Do I have a choice in the matter?” he sighed, standing up to leave Silva on the chaise. He’d already given him enough attention as it was.

“If you say yes you can pretend you do.”

Chrollo rolled his eyes. That sounded about right.

Hours later saw him in the banquet hall, vehemently reminded of his intended role at Silva’s side.

A large goblet was thrust towards him and Chrollo chewed the inside of his cheek, tipping the decanter to fill it full of wine once again. Silva, hardly drunk but wearing the costume well, cupped his ass in thanks and gave an appreciative squeeze as he sipped his now full drink.

Before he could step away, Silva snatched his arm and pulled him back into his space. “You look like you could use a reward,” the god said, his eyes laughing with some humor that Chrollo could sense he wouldn’t share.

He put on a faux smile, one dripping with faux servility and politeness, and tried to tug his arm out of the immovable grip. “I think I’m fine, thanks.” The rest of the gods and goddesses slowly began to take note of them and Chrollo’s skin prickled as more eyes turned, their gazes all fixed on him.

“Nonsense,” Silva said, and he used his considerable strength to drag Chrollo off his feet and firmly into his lap. “You’re mine to reward.”

Chrollo flushed under the audience’s attention and found that the more he struggled, the tighter Silva held him in place. He sat still so as to not embarrass himself further and crossed his arms, completely dwarfed by the god. “I’m no one’s,” he hissed, for Silva’s ears only. “Least of all yours.”

Silva trailed his lips along Chrollo’s cheek, smiling against his ear. “I’m sorry to hear that. I know for a fact that several in attendance tonight have their eyes on you. If you’re not mine, then I suppose I should just let one of them have you.”

Chrollo paled as he followed Silva’s gaze. The host of gods looked upon him with no scarce interest, some with heat and others with disdain. They couldn’t be happy having a mortal at their table, even if it were unwillingly.

It took only seconds to figure out which ones held what and Chrollo swallowed hard, his mouth completely dry at the desire leveled at him. He felt suddenly like a child in Silva’s lap, his small hands clenched in the god’s clothes as if to prevent him from giving him to one of the others.

Silva was a beast but at least Chrollo knew him.

“Oh,” Silva said, his eyes bright and his grin knowing. “Suddenly you’re so affectionate. Could it be that you’ve changed your mind?” His large hand fixed itself to Chrollo’s bare leg, drawing a burning line as it stroked higher and higher until it was under his garments. The sheer, olive-hued silk held no cover for him and it slipped off his shoulder the more he was jostled. Understanding greeted him like an old friend as he realized why Silva had been so adamant he wear this to dinner.

There was no way to hide his growing blush or the hatred pouring off of him like rain. Silva laughed low in his ear, reaching for his own plate at his side. “Let me pamper you, my pet,” he whispered, pressing a bit of his god-food to Chrollo’s white lips.

With the others watching he had no choice but to open his mouth and accept the morsel.

The taste sang on his tongue and though he hated the situation, he couldn’t help but moan. It was everything sweet, like honey and sweet grass, the scent of flowers on a cool night and the flavor of baking cakes that filled the air when he walked past the bread makers in the marketplace. It was everything and none of it and so much more beyond.

His eyes fell shut as the flavor filled him, warm in his blood like mulled wine in winter. A haze sang past his eyes and Chrollo went limp, opening his mouth further to take in Silva’s fingers too. Whatever drunkenness the food induced, it left him free from the thought of shame. Eyes devoured the sight of him but as he licked clean the digits, he couldn’t care at all.

It was because of that, he knew, that made Chrollo refuse to let the hand retreat. He fixed his grip around the wrist to keep the fingers in his mouth and he chased the taste of divinity with his tongue. Silva gave a low hum and let him lave his fingers, his other hand teasing him beneath his hem. His thighs fell apart to welcome it, gasping though his mouth was full. Silva seemed determined to work him until he burned all over.

His eyes fluttered shut as Silva took him in hand and the room melted away until all he could register was heat, honey, and the god granting him both. The fingers fell from his lips when he took a deep breath, mewling loud with nothing obstructing his sounds. “What is this?” he gasped, his eyes pricking with moisture as the desperation grew. “Silva, please, I need more.”

“So you can be sweet after all,” Silva chuckled, though he wasn’t without his own strain. His voice was affected, tense in a way that told Chrollo he was holding back, for his sake or for the audience around them he couldn’t tell. His hand dipped to his plate again for another morsel and Chrollo reached for it the moment it came close, guiding the fingers back into his mouth to suck the taste from his skin.

It was just as devastating as the first. Heat and pleasure tore through his veins, his vision dotting black around the edges. His grip on Silva’s hand became more of an embrace. He had to hold the god to him. Silva was an anchor, keeping him grounded lest he float away on all he was feeling.

Silva drank it in and twisted his free wrist, sending Chrollo into another wave of overwhelming sensation. “It’s been awhile since I’ve fed ambrosia to a mortal,” he mused, more to himself than to Chrollo. “I had forgotten how potent it could be, though maybe you’re just touch-starved.”

There was no way for Chrollo to disagree or even argue, his eyes clenching closed as he shook to pieces, his orgasm greeting him as quick and swift as a rainstorm in summer. He moaned around the fingers, saliva dripping messily down his chin. Body limp and singing with aftershocks, Chrollo fell bonelessly against Silva’s chest, his breathing erratic and mind struggling to keep up through the ambrosia-fueled haze.

He barely registered Silva glaring at the other gods and goddesses, sending them from the room with a barked command and heated look. Chrollo tangled his fingers in the soft fabric against his cheek, bringing the attention back to him.

“I’m so tired,” he mumbled, tilting up for the honey-sweet kiss Silva pressed to his lips. “You’re horrible and I’m tired.”

Silva sighed out a laugh and hefted him easily, his smile fond if not darkened with his checked desire. “Rest, Chrollo,” he said, carrying him through the opulent halls. “You did so well tonight.”

Chrollo was already on his way to sleep before he even reached his room, able to forget for a moment that the arms holding him were the same that flew him from his flock. Soft pillows greeted his cheek and a blanket skimmed across his bare legs, barely distinguishable from the proprietary touch of Silva saying his goodnight.

His dreams tasted like honey that night, golden and sweet in the darkness.

oOo

The days melded together in a whirl of color and sensation.

Chrollo sighed as he slowly submerged himself in the warm water. The pronounced tension in his back loosened but didn't quite lift and he figured it was more than he could have expected given his circumstances. The opulence around him was poor comfort for the shock of homesickness coiled in his stomach.

Nothing reminded him of home here. Every floor was padded with thick rugs and gorgeous carpets, no bare stone or humble thresh to be seen. The walls of the bath area were likewise decorated, interspersed with murals of the gods’ exploits, naked figures caught in the throes of pleasure, anguish, and delight. If anything they made him more self-conscious, the eyes seeming to watch as he washed himself.

He took the soap and oil in turn from the nearby stand, sighing as he used them. They were lovely, leaving his skin with a glistening sheen while scenting his hair like a rose garden.

He ached for the simplicity of a field of violets, for the olive oil found in the local village near his home.

His fingers traced over the bruises painting his thighs and hips, the long, curved welts of the eagle’s claws still a vibrant purple against his pale skin. He ached for his flock and hoped that the lambs were keeping close to their mothers. There would be no one to carry them home if they wandered off.

Chrollo sighed and tried to turn away from the thoughts of those he had been taken from, easing into the water until it came up to his neck.

He supposed he should feel honored, he thought ruefully. Silva rarely allowed anyone to use his private baths.

Though when the far door opened and the god in question strode in, Chrollo quickly realized it was hardly a boon meant for him.

“Don’t you have other mortal captives to accost?” he complained, pulling his knees up to his chest to cover himself from the preemptive weight of roving eyes.

Silva ignored him, speaking for a moment to the attendants nestled in the corner. Chrollo bit his lip and watched the god take his long, thick hair in hand and tie it up with a strip of leather held by a suitably reverent servant. He paid no mind to Chrollo, even as he stripped out of his robe to slip into the bath as well.

Chrollo frowned, certain it was some sort of lulling tactic. The god hardly paid any mind to him, conducting his ablutions with a singular focus on the far side of the bath. Curiosity burned in his stomach, momentarily outweighing the longing still heavy in his thoughts.

Before he really registered it, he found himself moving closer. The water gently lapped at his skin as he inched towards the disinterested god, wondering how close he could get before the affections and overtures kicked in like a reflex.

He made it within arm’s length before Silva finally looked up, some sort of victorious grin on his previously impassive face. “Don’t you have any other gods to accost?” the god smirked, darting forward to close the distance separating them before Chrollo could even think to move. “I’m glad to see you’re already starting to warm up to me, pet.”

Chrollo sputtered and flushed, struggling against the hands with everything he had in him. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he snapped, refusing to go without an appropriate level of fight. “I want nothing to do with you.”

Silva hummed and took in Chrollo’s soft skin, completely ignoring him. “I’m pleased that you’re using my baths. It’s a pleasure in itself to see you like this, all flushed and beautiful.” He tugged and settled Chrollo beside him, not wanting to force him into his lap just yet it seemed, be it from the threat of scratching or simply Chrollo’s bitter temper.

“I hardly want to hear that from you,” he said, turning to grab at the ledge. A towel was blissfully near and he rushed to lift himself from the water. If Silva allowed him there simply to have easier access to him vulnerable, he would content himself with the smaller baths near his room, public though they may be. No one would bother him after the first display, Silva staking his claim quite effectively.

He should have known after all the effort he had been witness to that Silva wouldn’t let him go that easily.

The god grabbed him by the thigh, pulling him back into the water with no visible effort at all. “If you run, I’ll chase you,” he promised, something unreadable in his cold blue eyes. A hand far hotter than the water passed over his nape, his thumb tucking under his chin like a collar.

Chrollo flushed and pushed away from him, refusing to look below the water level where the god’s eyes kept straying. “That’s your idea of foreplay, isn’t it?” he bit, bringing the towel underwater to wrap around himself. “Chasing those who wish to run.”

“You think I’m a poor lover.”

Chrollo scoffed. “You’re only realizing it now? I pity your past conquests.”

Instead of the desired argument, Chrollo got a smile. Silva inched closer, slowly as if approaching a wild animal likely to bolt. “I think you haven’t seen me at my best,” he said, his fingers skimming gently across the uncovered skin of Chrollo’s flank.

“And why not? Am I unworthy of you at your best?”

Silva grinned. “So you do want me,” he prodded, victorious as Chrollo sputtered. “You make it hard to be my best, my pet. You won’t sit still long enough for it.”

Worded like a challenge, there was no way for Chrollo not to rise to the bait.

“Well maybe you just don’t have the patience to try harder,” he shot, pointedly ignoring Silva’s ever-present shift towards him.

It came off almost as an invitation and Silva greedily accepted. The large hand fell to his thigh, shifting aside the towel to skim at the sensitive skin. “Why don’t we test the theory?” he asked, the words dancing against the shell of his ear. Silva teased the lobe with his teeth, his hot breath rivaling the warm air. “You fidget so much and shy away like a nervous bird. It’d be an easy win for me.”

Chrollo glared and suppressed the shiver building along his spine. There was no way Silva would win. The man didn’t have a patient bone in his body, or the skill to back it up.

“If I win,” Chrollo began, stopping for a moment to catch his breath. “If I win, you have to take me back.”

Silva cocked his head with a knowing smile on his lips. “Does that mean I get to keep you when you lose?” he asked, his eyes hungry. “I get to have you, sweet and docile with that viper's tongue checked.”

Instead of an answer, Chrollo simply nodded.

And with that, the game began.

Silva with a practiced motion and nary a pause lifted Chrollo into his lap. His hands wrapped completely around slender thighs to keep him in place. The god’s grin was wolfish, his wild mane only adding to the beastly visage. “There won’t be any running from this,” he warned, his grip punctuating the promise.

“Or you’ll chase me, right?” Chrollo said back, pointedly watching the hands begin their first move. They skimmed along his legs, luxuriating in his touch as they moved upwards.

“I’d chase you forever.”

Chrollo refused to let his embarrassment show at the declaration. “Leave it,” Chrollo whispered instead, holding Silva’s hands in his own before they could tug away his towel. “You can’t have me naked that easily.”

Silva whined but dutifully moved his hands higher, settling on Chrollo’s sides. “Nothing about you is easy,” he complained, dipping forward to kiss Chrollo’s skin, chasing the pink that danced along his cheeks.

“Maybe you should’ve considered that before you kidnapped me.”

“You were so beautiful,” Silva breathed, nipping and sucking marks against his throat. “I looked down and saw you there, standing in that field with the flowers in your hand. I thought I had caught sight of a nymph.”

Chrollo bit his lip and stared pointedly at the wall, unable to meet the look of adoration in the god’s eyes. “You must have been disappointed, finding out it was just an impious mortal.” He moved his hands to rest on Silva’s shoulders, just so they had somewhere to be and not because he wanted to touch the god as well. Speaking of his home left him aching inside, thoughts of his flock filling his head like a tangible pain.

Cold blue flicked up and stole his attention away from the wall. “I was entranced,” Silva corrected, bringing his hand up along his ribs to focus his efforts on Chrollo’s chest. “You steal my senses and vex me. I’m in thrall.”

“What a dangerous creature I must be, to have a god in thrall,” he managed, even though his lashes fluttered as Silva teased his nipples. He swallowed the keen before it could leave his throat, digging his nails into Silva’s shoulders for some measure of stability.

His heart pounded as Silva dismissed the attendants, his attention solely on Chrollo. Within moments they were alone, the only sounds the water lapping against the stone and their breathing.

For the briefest of seconds, Chrollo stared at the god’s mouth and wondered what divinity tasted like on the divine’s lips.

“You’re so stiff,” Silva chuckled, not waiting for permission before he took Chrollo by the thighs and lifted them both from the water. “Maybe we should try something else now.”

Chrollo startled and wrapped himself around the god, thrown off by the sudden shift. “Maybe you should just give up,” he rasped, praying the towel covering him wouldn’t fall. “You’re not as good at this as you think.”

Silva laughed. “Is that why you cling so tightly to me? Because I’m doing such a poor job?” As he spoke, he carried Chrollo to a nearby chaise, laying him out upon its cushioned surface.

Chrollo didn’t dignify him with a response. He grabbed for the sheets and tugged them around his waist, casting off the wet towel only when he knew he was covered. Once that was done, he gave Silva a pointed look, as if to ask what was next.

“Lay down for me,” the god murmured, pressing gently against his shoulder to coax him onto his stomach. “Let’s see if I can’t get you to relax.”

He didn’t put up a fight, instead burying his face in his arms to mask the sound of a cork being popped. The soft scent of jasmine wafted in the air, quieting the thoughts pounding against his skull. “You really are pampering me,” Chrollo remarked, tensing a little when the oil slicked fingers touched his skin. “Or is this just an excuse for you to touch?”

“I hardly need an excuse to touch you.” The hands, as strong and selfish as he knew them to be, were so very skillful as they applied the oil. Along his ribs he worked the muscles, moving in a slow pattern to knead away the tension.

Despite his best efforts, Chrollo found himself closing his eyes, his lips parting in the ghost of a moan. No one had ever touched him like this, so intent on soothing away his aches. The stress of the past few days melted like candle wax until he feared nothing of him would be left but a burnt wick and Silva’s hands.

The heady pleasure was almost enough to make him forget he had an avid audience.

“You would look so beautiful laid out on my bed,” Silva sighed, using his palms to smooth down Chrollo’s lower back, pressing in just the right way to release the tension coiled beneath his hands. It prompted another breathy moan from parted lips. “Staring up at me, begging me to take you.”

Chrollo flushed but hid it in his arms. “I don’t want to hear that from you,” he grumbled, though it was hard to sound sincere when the hands moved to his spine, digging into the sensitive nerves until he was alight with the novel pleasure.

Silva dipped closer under the premise of reaching for more oil and his teeth nipped Chrollo’s ear. “Really now,” he chuckled, pulling a reluctant moan from the mortal with a skillful move of his hand. “And who else would you rather hear it from?”

“Anyone but you,” he tried to grate, though it broke on a breathy sigh that sounded wanton, even to him. “How do you know I haven’t a lover already? You stole me from my home, you know nothing about me.”

“I know a virgin when I see one,” Silva laughed, “and you have the temperament of one.”

Maybe this had been a bad idea, he thought as Silva’s fingertips inched beneath the sheet. “Where do you think you’re touching?” he gasped, turning a bit to glare weakly over his shoulder.

The god had the audacity to raise a brow and look innocent. “You of course. This is a massage. I have to touch you thoroughly,” he said, cupping Chrollo’s ass in both hands.

His face burned with embarrassment but refused to give Silva the reaction he no doubt was looking for. The god hoped to fluster him and paint him even more of an innocent child.

“If I am, then I’m hardly one now,” Chrollo grit, glaring at the god. “Your little dinner display sapped me of any innocence I may have had, you utter beast.”

If that made him feel any guilt at all, he didn’t show it.

“You are so cold to me,” Silva said, his disappointment and mirth mixing into something patronizing. His large hand ran down Chrollo’s bare arm from shoulder to wrist, settling on his silk-covered waist. “Is there nothing I can do to make you warm?”

Chrollo hid his face in the luxurious pillow and pulled the sheets tighter around his body. “So you’re finally asking, now?” he bit, shrugging off the proprietary hand before it could wander any lower.

He felt Silva chuckle, the low rumble a heady note to the incense and oil scenting the air. “A god doesn’t have much practice in asking. You’re an exception, making me work so hard.” Silva dipped lower and trailed his lips along the path his hand had taken, burning a line against Chrollo’s pale skin.

With the god this close, there was no way for him to hide the shiver that cut through him. Chrollo clenched his fists in the silk and bit his lip, trying to ignore the gentle touch and the whisper of Silva’s beautiful hair against his shoulder.

“It’s…” he began, forcing the words to come out smooth, unaffected. “It’s probably good I’m making you ask. You could use some more impulse control. It keeps you humble.”

Silva laughed low and warm against his skin and there was no hiding the shiver it brought forth. “Oh, my pet, you’ll never see me humble,” he said, nipping the skin gently to make Chrollo jolt before laving it with his tongue.

Chrollo didn’t fight him when he coaxed him onto his back, or when Silva descended on his neck, telling himself it was simply part of the bet and nothing more. Large, burning hands devoured all they could of him above the sheets, dipping beneath the moment Chrollo closed his eyes to gasp.

“You taste so sweet,” Silva whispered to him, taking Chrollo apart with no effort at all. “Like ambrosia mulled with wine. Let me taste more of you,” he pleaded.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at the god, too afraid of the intent he might see. Shaking, Chrollo closed his eyes and fought the pleasure promised with every calculated touch of Silva’s hands. It was easy to tell himself that it was the hands that pulled him against Silva, that they hid his face in the god’s chest and commanded him to nod his head, surrendering to the whims of the one who held him. 

“Please,” he heard himself murmur, his own hands clenched in the gossamer soft hair. “Silva, please. Take me to bed.”

Nothing more needed to be said. Silva lifted him higher until he was draped along his massive body, lifting him from the chaise to carry him into Silva’s own bedroom. Chrollo hid his face, unwilling to acknowledge if anyone saw him along the way. He distracted himself by covering Silva’s throat and chin with tiny, shy kisses.

The god growled low in his chest, laying him out on the crimson sheets the moment they reached the bed. “Do you have any idea of the things you do to me?” he asked, crawling onto the bed, following every shift Chrollo made to put distance between them.

Chrollo’s eyes fell to the god’s noticeable excitement and he bit his lip, his stomach nearly queasy with nervous energy. “I think I have an idea.” His knees closed when his back met the cool headboard, the hand-carved oak a massive reminder that there was nowhere left to run.

Silva smirked and his hands fell to Chrollo’s trembling legs, yanking him closer with an ease born of practice and entitlement. With his hair up he almost looked kind, the wild lines of his face softened. It was so at odds with the strength in his hands, the dominance in every move.

Any ease the massage might have brought disappeared. Chrollo covered his face with his arms and shook, unable to bear the weight of the gaze upon him.

It took only a second for Silva to notice.

“Shhhh,” he crooned, coming closer to press kisses to Chrollo’s closed legs. “There’s no need to be afraid, pet. Wasn’t this entire bet to show you how generous I could be?” He soothed down Chrollo’s oil-slicked skin, coaxing them open with a hail of kisses and soft bites that sent shivers down the mortal’s spine.

Chrollo couldn’t find his voice and he stubbornly kept his face hidden, even as his breathing became labored the more attention the god paid him. A teasing nip high on his inner thigh had him gasping, his entire body jolting, and there was no hiding his own excitement as his cock began to harden in the wake of Silva’s warm breath and teasing tongue. He ached for that mouth to go higher, to take him in, but even though he had all but lost, he still refused to give Silva the satisfaction of hearing him ask for it.

The sound of a vial being uncorked cracked like thunder and Chrollo could hardly force himself to look, his face paling as Silva coated his thick fingers in even more oil. Virgin though he was, Chrollo knew all too well what he intended to do.

With one last kiss to his thigh, Silva rolled him onto his stomach, using his free hand to lift him until his ass was presented like an offering. The slick, wet hand probed at his entrance and Chrollo felt his arms shake.

Silva rested his hand on his hips, holding him in place as he teased the opening. “Stay relaxed for me, pet,” he said, not waiting for it to happen before inserting a finger.

Chrollo shuddered and choked, his arms giving out a little. “Silva,” he gasped, admonishing as his cheeks burned.

He was hushed, Silva petting down his flank. “Quiet now, you’ll get used to it soon.”

He highly doubted that.

Another finger pressed inside without preamble, scissoring with the first in a stretch that burned and ached. He felt so full and his arms gave out completely, leaving him clenching the sheets as Silva played havoc with his body. The fingers curled and thrust, brushing against something that had him gasping.

“Ah, did I find it?” Silva chuckled, aiming for the spot again. He got no response, Chrollo simply trying to focus on breathing. He slipped in a third finger while Chrollo was distracted on the pleasure. Mercilessly, he worked him until Chrollo clenched his hands in the sheets hard enough to rip. Tremors ran up and down his spine. Each second of the torment was hell on his self-control.

Every targeted move sent him reeling and before he could stop himself, Chrollo reached back to seize Silva’s wrist. He keened into the sheets and forced the hand to move, fucking himself until he saw nothing but stars.

Thighs falling open, chest flat against the bed, he paid no mind to how greedy and eager he was being. He had never felt like this, burning from the inside until he thought he would die. Silva began to pull away and Chrollo cried out, digging his nails in. He was so close, so close to what was building inside him.

Despite his best efforts, Silva still managed to take back his hand. Chrollo whined and tried to follow, looking back at the god only to see the singular intent in his eyes, the awe. His face flushed violently and he buried himself in the sheets, too embarrassed by his wanton display to come out.

He wasn’t given long to hide. Silva tsked, taking him by the hips to lift him away from the bedding and into a new position. “No hiding after that,” he laughed, though his voice was so much lower, rasped and husky in a way that made Chrollo shiver. “I want to see more of your assertive side. You always try to put me in my place, so don’t stop now.”

Chrollo shook as Silva maneuvered him on top, positioning him over his hard, straining cock. “I can’t,” he stammered, forcing himself to look into the god’s eyes. “Silva, I can’t do it myself.” Not now. Not like this, when he hardly knew what he was feeling or how to go about acting on it.

“You can,” Silva hushed, stroking down his back as soothingly as he could, though he was barely holding back his own want. Large hands fell to Chrollo’s hips. “Here, I’ll help you.”

His protests were cut off mid-syllable as Silva dragged him down, impaling him with little more warning than that. Chrollo’s eyes rolled back and his mouth fell open, the air in the room suddenly lacking. He heard Silva sigh heavily in pleasure, the god refusing to wait before he fed him another few inches.

Chrollo shook and stopped breathing, every inch adding to the overwhelming pressure inside him until he feared he would die. He barely registered when Silva finally stopped, no more left to give. Tears poured down his cheeks and it wasn’t until he was pulled down for a kiss that he finally drew in a burning, shuddering breath.

“It’s too much,” he mouthed, not enough air in his lungs to spare for words. “Silva….”

“You’re holding me so tightly,” Silva groaned, rolling his hips in search of more. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a virgin.”

Chrollo cried out as the god moved, this time lifting him by the thighs, thrusting his hips to meet him as gravity pulled him back down on the hard length. His nerves were alight with fire, sweat pouring off him to mingle with the oil glistening on his skin. Something inside him ached with pleasure and Chrollo rested his hands on Silva’s chest, needing the support to keep himself up.

Slowly, painfully, Chrollo began to work himself up to Silva’s building rhythm. The god seemed to know where to aim his every thrust to send him shaking and moaning anew. Chrollo leaned into the hand that teased his nipples, holding it to him as he lifted himself to meet the god’s movements. The pleasure doubled, his vision going hazy, and before long he was riding the god in earnest, seeking it for himself.

Ice blue eyes devoured him, their weight like fire instead of cold. “I knew this would suit you,” Silva said, taking his hips in hand to fuck into him harder, faster. “You look perfect, Chrollo. Like you were built to be like this.”

The words permeated the pleasure-riddled mist and Chrollo keened, lifting one of Silva’s hands to his lips to take in his fingers like he had done before. Though he knew it was just his mind playing tricks on him, he swore he could taste the ambrosia, the thick fingers a sweet and natural weight on his tongue.

Silva choked as if he were in pain and ripped his hand free, and before Chrollo could protest the loss, rolled until Chrollo’s shoulder met the bed.

The new angle seemed meant to drown him in the pleasure. Chrollo’s hair fanned out along the pillow, his hands dead weights above his head. He cried out as Silva took control of the pace, hiking his legs up to fuck into him relentlessly.

“Look at me, Chrollo,” Silva ordered, and Chrollo did, not having realized he had closed his eyes.

The god looked like divinity, like unrestrained power and unthinkable intent. His wild mane had fallen free from his leather tie, pouring down like a torrent until it curtained Chrollo in a silver rain.  Chrollo reached out with shaking hands to dig his nails into the god’s shoulders, his hands so small. Silva dwarfed him in every way, devouring him like an eagle a mouse, and Chrollo buried his face in the god’s neck so he wouldn’t have to watch himself be eaten.

Warm lips teased his ear and he could feel Silva grin. “I’m close. Are you?” he asked, biting down on the lobe until Chrollo couldn’t breathe.

He nodded his head wildly, unable to speak. Like this, his cock was pressed to the god’s firm stomach, wet and aching and red.

“I’m going to cum inside you,” the god said, thrusting in hard to cut off any protest Chrollo could have aired.

Despite the attempt, Chrollo still managed a strangled no, the filthiness of the thought too much to consider. But, like most of his experiences with Silva, the god paid him no mind. Silva thrust into him once, twice more before spilling with a low growl, his teeth finding the crook of Chrollo’s neck to mark him as he came.

Chrollo’s thighs trembled and he mewled, shaking as he was filled with heat and wet, the pain and shock enough to force him over a moment later. His own release coated the god’s stomach. Silva still moved despite his softening cock, intent on fucking himself through the aftershocks.

With a desperate cry, Chrollo tore at Silva’s back. “Please, please, Silva, it’s too much,” he nearly sobbed, his nails hardly scratching the god’s iron hide. His head fell back against the pillows and his hands dragged aimlessly down Silva’s arms. “I can’t, I can’t.”

His protests were cut off with a kiss that stole what little breath he had left, emptying his lungs until all there was was Silva. Eventually the god tired of his actions, taking from him until Chrollo feared he’d pass out. He pulled out with a modicum of care, though his fingers immediately busied themselves with probing the extent of his handiwork.

Two fingers slipped back inside and Chrollo covered his face with his hands. This would be the death of him.

“You’re horrible,” he said, muffled by his hands but loud enough for Silva to hear through the sounds of his wet, messy play.

The god laughed, forcing his hand away from his eyes. “But you’re still mine,” he murmured victoriously, dipping down for a kiss, one that tasted like Chrollo’s complete defeat.

Beneath the wolfish grin, the sharp teeth against his throat marking yet another sign of ownership into his skin, Chrollo keened like a lost lamb.

He knew that there would be no one to rescue him though. His flock was too far to hear and he was already too lost to be found.

**Author's Note:**

> i thought we were missing out on some silvakuro so i figured i should take a break from all the hisokuro and revisit some old prompts on my list. i hope you liked it! check me out on tumblr (terminallydepraved) and let me know how you felt. until next time~


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